


Scatter Shot

by magdalyna



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Implied Torture, Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-21
Updated: 2013-01-21
Packaged: 2017-11-26 07:43:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/648191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magdalyna/pseuds/magdalyna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter teaches Derek everything he knows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scatter Shot

He was fifteen when Derek was born. 

Greg had been in that new father daze, like he had been for Laura three years previously.

Irene had looked radiant, exhausted. 

Peter had held a squirming Laura while Greg touched Irene’s sweaty cheek, so very tender. Laura waves at their mother in law, grabbing for her so Peter transfers the girl to her. 

In the observation room, Derek had been swaddled in soft blue, a red wrinkled smush for a face. 

Something had sparked, curled into his chest. 

“Hello there.” Peter had said, lowly. Derek wriggled. 

He stayed until his mother in law found him, Laura giggling as she runs to him on fat little legs.. 

 

*

 

They are wolves and even if they pretend for humans they are nothing more, at night they tell their children of hunters, scare them with tales of a cure. Of what can happen to a bitten wolf left unmoored.

Derek is a quiet child. 

Laura is so exuberant, and Jeremy is so like her, even if he idolizes his older brother. 

Peter is turning over a letter Claire had sent him when Derek slips into his bedroom, eyes curious.

Peter spreads his arms, reaches for _Treasure Island_ on his nightstand.

“Did you finish your homework?” he asks.

Derek nods, squirming onto the bed to get comfortable. “Long division is tricky.” The boy explains.

“Did you try what I showed you?” he prompts.

“It helped, thanks.” The boy has a missing tooth currently and it makes him lisp at odd moments. 

It’s hard being away from the pack for such long stretches as college demands, but for these moments, he makes due. 

The boy is 8 now, almost time for his more advanced lessons, those beyond controlling the change, picking out sensory data, blocking what isn’t important. 

He’ll have to learn more about hunters, what tricks they use to inflict pain, how to deal with people whose actions he needs to manipulate. 

It makes Peter’s stomach turn to think of a hunter capturing Derek. 

“One more chapter and then you need to get to bed.” He decides. Derek grins. 

 

*

 

He marries Claire on a hot day in June. 

She’s human and doesn’t care that he sometimes isn’t. She’s got corn silk hair and brown doe eyes and a sharp sense of humor, a sly mouth. 

Everything around them is covered in blue hydrangeas and white chrysanthemums. 

He doesn’t think he’ll ever be happier. 

 

*

 

When Emma is born Derek latches onto her, almost like the child is his. 

He indulges the boy and Claire smiles, thinly. 

Emma is human too, with her mother’s hair and his eyes, his chin. 

He works for an architectural firm near Eureka and Claire starts her own photography business. 

The decision is made that Peter should oversee Derek’s more advanced training while Irene oversees Laura’s. Greg is to train Jeremy. 

Derek is 13, gangly and awkward. 

Peter’s stomach knots, thinking of what that means. It’s more than necessary though. Hunters are relentless, uncaring of circumstances. It wouldn’t matter if Derek was a vegan Buddhist working with at risk youth or battered women, they’d still target him. 

 

*

 

There is a grove that Peter found that he showed to Derek and they go there at times, sometimes together, and sometimes apart only to find the other there.

There is a shallow dip to the outer edge that could politely be called a pond and that is where Peter taught Derek how to skip rocks. 

“Your father talked to you three about training last night.” Peter says, coming up behind Derek.

“Yeah.” Derek says. His voice is at that point where it’s mostly stopped cracking. It’s still high, but slightly lower than the clear bell of his youth.

“He explained what it was, why it was important.” Peter continues.

“He did.” Derek ducks his head. If Peter were facing him, he’d see the boy blushing. He did, when he was being trained, at first. 

Derek, who was still quiet, who as a boy would bring injured animals for Peter to drain their pain. 

He places a hand on Derek’s bowed neck. Derek leans into it.

“Then let us begin.” Peter says, low.

 

*

 

The basement is dark, of course, and this far in, past the rec room and small cells for transformation, are different rooms. 

Peter had started with knives, at first, to warm the boy up. 

He moved onto water, then blunt objects, finally working his way to electricity. 

He asks questions, sometimes giving the boy time to answer, sometimes not. Sometimes he hurts the boy more when he answers until the boy learns that even the tiniest thing can mean everything.

He’d hold the boy in his arms, after, while Derek wept and shook, stroking his back, rubbing circles into his skin. Derek would nose at his throat, taking in his scent with gulping breaths while Peter tried not to hate himself. 

 

*

 

The lectures on seduction and crisis resolution are a welcome reprieve from the nights in the basement.

A kind word or a slow smile can work wonders for getting what you want, the boy learns from him. 

Peter is acutely aware of the boy now, a low buzz behind his eyes and low in his gut. He doesn’t think about what that means, for them. He won’t. He already has a wife and Derek is young, yet. 

“Honey and flies, Derek” he repeats often as Derek slowly work on a smile that could belt butter. 

 

*

 

Peter goes to the grove to think, or at least to think without anyone underfoot.

He has a project at work that isn’t going so well. Emma is stonewalling her mother on some matter related to the internal logic of Dora the Explorer. Claire needs a bigger studio. Derek – Derek as ever, swallows everything up, taking all the oxygen. 

This is probably why Peter doesn’t notice the boy until it’s too late – the sounds low and dirty, skin on skin, his strained moans around a fist. He’s leaning against a tree, facing away from Peter.

The boy comes, with a breathy, high “Peter.” Falling from his lips. 

Peter takes a step back, steps on a twig.

Derek jerks, twists around, horrified. 

His come shines on his stomach in the afternoon light. 

Derek is 15, growing into himself. Peter has never felt so old. 

“Peter, I -” Derek starts to explain. 

“You should clean yourself up.” He says and turns around. 

Derek doesn’t follow him, mercifully. 

 

*

 

After their encounter, Derek throws himself into swimming.

And if, when Derek comes home smelling of chlorine and cheap perfume, Peter can’t find it in himself to bring it up. 

He thinks they are safe.

 

*

 

Jeremy is screaming. 

He tries to push the boy up the stairs but the boy collapses. 

It burns when he touches the boy, wolfsbane in the smoke and he has to move on. On the stairwell he almost trips over Emma, his beautiful little girl. His beautiful, dead, little girl. Her hands curled into claws.

He doesn’t remember getting outside, only the crisp air against his naked body where the fire burned off his clothes, his skin, only for the healing to force new skin to knit itself together.

 

*

 

Everything burns, a slow fire eating his insides, fibers and synapses, everything delayed. 

It’s a fog of napalm, and he’s swimming in it. 

He loses joy first, for how can such a fluttering, freeing thing last in the face of this kind of torture? He loses compassion next, because the pain is unending, even if most of his nerves are missing. Somewhere in compassion, he loses empathy and sympathy, those sweet, kind twins. 

The whole of his mind is carved out, pushed to make space for the pain, the itch of his body healing cell by agonizing cell. 

The only thing left is vengeance. 

 

*

 

The opportunity comes and he rips the body in half. Laura had abandoned the weakest pack member, left him defenseless, should a hunter want to while away an evening by so easily breaking in to finish him off (he broke out easily enough, without kind Jenny’s help). 

There’s a boy then, in his forest, wearing a red hoodie, lost and alone, and Peter can’t contain his excitement. His fear is intoxicating. 

Oh, the _irony_ , he thinks. It’s too good to pass up and so he takes a bite out of the boy, a nice, spine curling bite, and it feels so good. 

 

*

 

Scott McCall is clever, and Peter is pleasantly surprised. His friend is also sly, with that trick with his keys, and Peter had been looking forward to finishing their conversation. 

He can hear Stiles’ heart go rabbit rabbit before Derek shows up and knocks Jenny out. He disapproves, concussions are serious for humans and she is his nurse. She’s been so helpful after all.

Derek roars at him. He supposes he has time to dally, he can approach Stiles later.

They dance, duck and parry, swipe and strike and Peter remembers digging his claws into Derek’s lungs outside the school. Stiles slips away in the middle.

He’s getting bored and Derek is so much broader now. Derek has grown into himself. 

Finally Derek is tired. He strokes the vertebrae in Derek’s neck as Derek catches his breath.

“We’re all we have left, Derek. Do you really want to fight me?” Peter asks, so very careful. 

“No.” Derek says, exhausted. 

Jenny is starting to wake up now, so Peter goes over, checks on her. She smiles thinly at him.

He goes back to Derek, drags him up.

Jenny will take care of things here, but right now he has things to take care of with Derek back home. 

 

*

 

Peter could reinforce the pack bond any number of ways, but he chooses to unbuckle his belt, unzip his pants. Slip his pants and briefs down just past his balls. 

Derek stares at the sight of him for a moment before slinking down to his knees, pressing a cheek to his thigh before breathing him in. 

Derek has two fingers holding the base, not tight, but there. He works Peter over, tongue and lips sliding and sucking, humming. His mouth is hot slick heat and Peter briefly wonders where Derek learned this, a curl of jealousy threading through him before he brushes it off. Derek is here now, and if Peter has a say, this is where Derek will always be: with him. 

Derek swallows him down and hums, swallows his come when his orgasm rips through him. Peter breaths heavily. “Touch yourself.” He tells Derek and Derek doesn’t last long. 

 

*

 

Scott is shrewder than he anticipated, and Stiles has a smart mouth.

His wayward beta may be a little lovelorn but what 16 year old isn’t?

He had meant it when he said he was going after those responsible but Stiles saw darling Jenny’s body in the trunk of her car. He hadn’t needed her anymore, now had he?

Stiles is a delight, that mouth of his, those big brown doe eyes. 

Stiles is helpful, after a fashion, and Peter is feeling buoyant. 

He presses the boy’s wrist to his mouth, almost kissing it, and that rabbit rabbit pulse is everywhere, even the thin angle Peter grips between hand and forearm. 

Stiles is a quivering mess, panic and fear and a low burning arousal that intrigues Peter but at the last second he yanks his hand away. Oh, a fighter. 

He leaves the boy to find his trapped nephew, and finally finish this thing. 

 

*

 

The hunter isn’t sorry, and more fool her, for not bothering to change her perfume in six years. It’s the cheap kind, alright, not like anything he would have picked out for Claire, if she was the sort who wore fake scent. 

He tears her throat and feels – not relief, but close. 

They burn him again, with those bombs from the school. Clever children. Clever, clever, cruel children. 

No matter, that slip of a thing on that lacrosse field has enough of him in her mind now; all he has to do is wait to see who kills him. He’ll be back anyway.

Scott and Derek fight over the honor, but it’s Derek in the end. It was always going to be Derek.

 

*

 

He sinks into Lydia Martin’s mind and tears it apart. 

They wait. 

 

*

 

After he cleans up, he goes to see Derek. 

Derek is as receptive to see him as he was the last time.

He lets Derek lead the dance this time, lets Derek unleash his anger into him. 

He lets it go on for far too long but it feels like it’s been ages since he could feel someone else touch him.

Finally when Derek is worn out, he starts talking. 

Peter isn’t what Derek needs right now but Derek is what Peter wants.

What Peter has wanted for a very long time.

Derek gives this choked cry when Peter licks his cock into his mouth. He’s got Derek against a wall, claws digging into the skin of his hips, thighs. He’s going to make this good for Derek.

He can smell Stiles, his clove and rock salt scent, clinging to Derek’s shoulders, belly. 

Derek comes and Peter swallows it down. 

“After you going to pine for that boy?” Peter asks after he pulls off, tucks Derek back into his clothes.

Derek looks down at him, expression soft. Broken. 

Peter stands up slowly and Derek tracks the motion with his eyes, unblinking.

“Are you offering me something better, Uncle?” Derek asks.

The boy has learned so much from him. “Yes, I am.” Peter smiles.

“Then no, I won’t.” Derek leans in, breathes at his neck. 

Peter isn’t going to let anything come between them, not this time.


End file.
